Til The End
by jansonpls
Summary: Hobbie Klivian thinks about why it is he's fighting in this war...


**Title: ** 'Til The End   
**Author: ** djcati   
**Fandom: ** Star Wars NJO (circa _Balance Point_?)   
**Characters: ** Hobbie, OC   
**Rating: ** PG   
**Words:** 1,331   
**Notes: ** The style of this is weird, um, I can't quite figure it out, but that's how Hob- **I** insisted on writing it. for those who know what I'm talking about, the parts of this in italics are entirely AU from Supernova. :p 

-OK, there are a few in-jokes in this that you probably won't get unless you're in Supernova (the post-NJO RP that slashes your pil- um, tires). And one thing that I stole from rogueskeptic on LJ, because it was too cute _not_ to. Enjoy the Hobbie-ness... 

- 

Most people hated war. The fighting, the killing, the not-quite-morning drills… 

_"Colonel Klivian, sir – you need to sign this." _

"Paperwork. Fantastic. Over there, Lieutenant – I'll get it later." 

"Thank you, sir." 

"Right, right…dismissed…" 

Hobbie hated all those things, too. He also hated being in command of a squadron, being _responsible_, and flying without Wedge, Tycho, and Wes by his side. 

_"Colonel Klivian, sir, did you sign those forms?" _

"What? You only gave me them a minute ago!" 

"No, sir, the other ones – about my transfer." 

"Oh, those ones. I lost those." 

"What! … Sir." 

"Kidding. I'll get them to you in a couple hours, when I find them." 

"It takes you two hours to sign forms!" 

"Sure. Dismissed, Lieutenant." 

Most people would say there was nothing good about war, especially this one. People dying: not good. Worlds being destroyed: not good. Aliens from another galaxy, hell bent on destruction and domination: not good. 

A lot of people said there was never anything good about any war – what did it achieve if not more pain for all concerned? Hobbie figured those people hadn't fought in the Rebellion – or the Empire, come to that. Sure, war had more than its fair share of bad points, but how the hell else did these people expect their freedom? 

Not that even that worked right away. Hobbie had hated those years after the Rebellion even more than the war itself. You never were sure who exactly you were fighting – the Imperials, or New Republic bureaucracy? 

_"Colonel Klivian, sir – those transfer forms?" _

"Hey, I thought I said two hours." 

"…I thought, maybe, you were joking." 

"Joking? You want joking, go to Wes Janson." 

"…Did you even **look** at those forms yet? Sir?" 

Maybe that was why – despite his command position, despite being away from his best friends, despite the war – Hobbie felt more comfortable now than he had during the so-called peace time. There was a clear enemy now – something he could see and shoot, something everyone he knew was fighting, something he could curse when things went wrong. Not that he couldn't still curse New Republic bureaucracy, of course. 

_"Oh my kriffing Force, no." _

"…Sir? That sure was a lot of cursing, for you." 

"Vaping Corellian hells, **no**, Lieutenant." 

"And that was more." 

"I'm not signing this form. No way." 

Hobbie liked knowing who his enemy was. He liked to know who he was aiming at and whether he could shoot them or not. He liked it even better when the answer was yes. 

Waiting around for something to do, sidestepping taboos, following rules and regulations to the letter – nuh uh. Reminded him too much of the Empire, and look where it got them! 

So maybe that was a by-product of – pretty much – growing up in the Rebellion. Never any use for bureaucracy back then. Fighting a war on two fronts? Didn't work. At least this war with the Yuuzhan Vong meant bureaucracy was taking a step back from the military. If only it could let go entirely… 

_"Can I ask why not, sir?" _

"This is a transfer form? For you?" 

"Yes." 

"Into this squadron? The squadron printed right here?" 

"Yes, sir." 

"Not a chance in hell, Lieutenant. Can't let you get yourself into this." 

"Into what, sir?" 

"All – just – why are you transferring?" 

"That squadron commander requested a slicer—" 

"I'll bet he did." 

"—and I thought it looked interesting, sir." 

In some ways, the Yuuzhan Vong were similar to the Empire – strong, nasty, and intent on killing everything that wasn't themselves. But they were so _different_, too, and Hobbie just wasn't sure what things would be like at the end of this war – if it ever _did_ end. 

So much destruction…was anything ever going to be normal again? Had anything ever _been_ normal? Hobbie wasn't sure what normal even was – probably stupid bureaucracy. Stang. 

_"So you're going to leave us, Lieutenant? It's because he's more famous than me, isn't it?" _

"Um – that really wasn't my justification, sir." 

"How will the Blades cope without you?" 

"Probably a lot better than you've coped **with** me." 

"You really want me to sign this?" 

"Yes, please, sir." 

"Are you sure you want to go through with this?" 

"I'm sure." 

"Really?" 

"Would it be insubordination for me to threaten to steal your toy bantha until you sign that form?" 

"I don't have a toy bantha." 

"That because I'm holding it hostage." 

"…" 

"Jay – one; Colonel – nil." 

"…" 

"…Sir." 

"…OK. I'll sign it. But you understand you can't come running back in a couple weeks, crying for the Blades, right?" 

"I do." 

"And that this will be the stupidest decision you've made since – since – since eating that dish Fizz told you was an Adumari specialty?" 

"Possibly." 

"And that your new squadron commander will do his utmost to ruin your life any way he can?" 

"I'm sure he's not that bad…" 

"He is." 

"Ruin my **life**?" 

"Oh, yes." 

"…OK, sir. I understand." 

"And you still want me to sign this?" 

"Yes." 

He'd thought, at first, maybe fighting in the war would _be_ his normality. But this was such a different _war_, and it wasn't just because the Vong were a different enemy. 

How long had it all been? More than twenty years since Endor; more than fifteen since Thrawn. Almost seven years since he'd flown with the Rogues. Seven years… And here he was, back in service, his own squadron – Blade Squadron. 

Hobbie figured someone was having a joke with him at first, and half-expected the fighters to be Adumari. But no – good old X-wings. 

He'd led the Blades for just under a year now, and they were all good kids. That was the key, though – _kids._ Not one of them over twenty-five, and almost all of them green. That was how it was with war, wasn't it? Idealistic kids, fighting for a cause, forgetting the harsh realities…_able_ to forget the harsh realities because they could see their dreams at the end of it all. 

Hobbie wished he still could. 

_"All right, Lieutenant. There you go – life sentence, signed, sealed, and…delivered." _

"Thank you, sir." 

"Oh, I'm just Hobbie, now. And you're just **crazy**." 

"Um…right, Hobbie…Colonel Klivian." 

"Hobbie." 

"Colonel Klivian." 

"Hobbie." 

"…Colonel Hobbie?" 

"If you call me that again, I'll get your new squadron commander to make all your rations Ewok food." 

"Ewok food?" 

"Oh, yes. Have fun with the Ewoks, Lieutenant." 

"…Sir? You've never grinned like that before." 

"I've never had the opportunity. But now someone **else** is going to be the victim. I feel all…warm. And fuzzy." 

"Warm and fuzzy." 

"It's new to me. Let me savour it for a moment." 

Did it really matter what he could see at the end? Did it matter if there even _was_ an end to it all for him? He wasn't fighting in this war for himself, or even his family or friends. He was fighting so that innocent people didn't die at the hands of the Vong. 

If he could picture an end – peace – for them, he didn't really need one for himself, did he? Didn't a wise man used to tell him – constantly – that he just had to _enjoy_ life, and never mind waiting for the future? 

Granted, the same man had an unhealthy fascination with Ewoks and paint and things that went _boom_, but that didn't stop him being wise. Though Hobbie would never admit that out loud. 

_"…Can I leave now, Col – sir – Hobbie?" _

"Sure…go pack your stuff up. Remember the Ewok repellent." 

"Sir…" 

"Enjoy the Taanab Yellow Aces, Jay. Tell Wes he's an idiot, from me." 

"I won't, sir." 

"Good. Dismissed, then." 

"Goodbye, sir." 

"And bring back my toy bantha now." 

"Will do." 

So long as there was an enemy, Hobbie decided, someone trying to deny innocents their freedom, then he'd fight. He'd fight them 'til the day he died, and that would be his end. It wasn't such a bad end, he figured. And it would let him enjoy himself in the meantime. 

- 


End file.
